Get Some by Daniel Birch Read Free Book Online Page B

room and picked me up, I saw the man next door as they dragged me out. He did an action with his fingers across his chest. I realised it was a cross he was doing on his chest, the way Rocky used to before each fight in his films.
    Fuck.
    I didn’t get a good look at the guy in the cell next door. I only really saw that he was bald and wearing rags. How long had he been there?
    After being sat back in the room he had only been in hours earlier, Tommy awaited the next batch of treatment. He was physically exhausted. His shoulder had at least stopped bleeding from the bullet he had taken off Trigg, though, but his knee was numb after having a nail hammered into it earlier, and his face was swollen, bruised and bloodied.
    As Tommy’s eyes wandered the room he could see two guards stood near the door. Then, as he looked to his left he noticed the table.
    ‘ Oh shit, oh fuck me, what the fuck’s all that there for?’ Tommy asked as his eyes examined the sharp and scary instruments on the table. The table reminded him of a surgeon’s table of apparatus before doing an operation.
    The guards just talked quietly in their own language. Walking in slowly a new man appeared. He was a short man around 5ft and a half. He was wearing beige camouflage combat trousers with a green vest. Tommy sniggered as he noticed the awful moustache the man had with the equally dodgy side-parting in his hair. He had a clipboard with some paper attached and a map, which he placed on the table of doom.
    The man pulled up a chair and sat about a foot away from Tommy.
    ‘ You sleep well, Tommy?’ the man asked, smiling.
    Now Tommy knew this was the same voice who spoke to him last night. ‘Like a baby, thanks to your guards playing football with my head. Listen, my shoulder and my knee are fucking killing me. Is there any way you could have a doctor look at me, please?’
    The man talked to one of the guards, who then walked out of the room.
    ‘ It is being dealt with, Tommy. Now I have some questions. They are quite simple. Before I ask, I want you to think.’
    ‘ Water, I need some water.’ Tommy was so thirsty; the heat was becoming unbearable for him. He had a fever and the room felt like a greenhouse.
    ‘ Of course,’ the man said. He opened up his own water flask and gently poured some water into Tommy’s mouth. ‘Not too much, not too much,’ he said as the water spilled out of Tommy’s mouth and down his neck.
    Feeling a little more composed, Tommy breathed and gathered himself again. ‘Right, fuck it, what do you want to know?’
    The next ten to fifteen minutes I explained to Mr. Haircut 2007 that our mission was very simple.
    A Black OP.
    We had been ordered to check out a few huts which, according to our intelligence, could have been holding some Iraqi militants who, the day before, had blown up a convoy of UN Red Cross trucks carrying medical supplies. The powers that be were angry and wanted badly the people who had done it. It was a five man team, headed by the field ops expert, Trigg. I explained to Haircut that I and some of my crew had been fucked over somehow by our own man.
    I told him the truth. It was not ‘good intelligence’ I was giving. It was the truth, though, nevertheless. It had no bearing on the war, was totally useless information, and he knew it. Mr Haircut proceeded to ask me about bombing routes, what my next mission was. How the fuck was I supposed to know that? I explained that my kind was treated like mushrooms where it came to Intel, fed shit and kept in the dark. I knew one thing and one thing only, orders.
    They decided to torture me anyway, whether it was for more info or even for some sadistic fun on their part, who knows? I was tortured for roughly three days. I was punched, kicked and sometimes even bitten.
    Believe it or not that was just for starters. When the guard came back who was supposedly finding someone to treat my shoulder, he only brought back a knife. The knife was glowing red and I